


Wrap you around my finger

by soy_em



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, concierge!Jensen, minor attempted sexual assault, playboy!Jared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:14:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21904309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soy_em/pseuds/soy_em
Summary: Jared's the most difficult, annoying resident in the building where Jensen works as a concierge to put himself through grad school. A wealthy trust-fund baby, he's completely thoughtless and selfish and Jensen definitely doesn't like him. At all.
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki
Comments: 26
Kudos: 211
Collections: SPN J2 Xmas Exchange





	Wrap you around my finger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [junkerin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/junkerin/gifts).



> For the 2019 SPN J2 Xmas Exchange as a gift for Junkerin. Hopefully this meets your prompts of enemies to lovers, and also some power imbalance too. And a teeny bit of character growth, as well. Merry Christmas and hope you like it!
> 
> Thank you to DWImpala67 for the incredibly quick and helpful beta - much appreciated! Any remaining mistakes are mine.

It’s the third time this week. 

Jensen groans as he hears the noise approaching. The raucous laughter is accompanied by inane giggling, the tap-tapping of stiletto heels and the inevitable swish of liquid in bottles as the young man spills into the hallway, designer shirt unbuttoned to a scandalous level and sleeves carelessly rolled to his elbows, one arm tight around yet another dubious-blonde, stick-thin girl, while the other clutches the neck of a no-doubt expensive bottle of champagne. 

The girl almost goes head over heels, so wobbly on her legs that she nearly upsets her much bigger companion. The boy finds it extremely amusing and that booming laugh rings out again as they stumble towards the lift. 

“Hey, man!” The boy shouts towards Jensen in greeting as they pass the concierge desk, waving with his champagne bottle. Jensen inclines his head politely; it’s his job to be nice to the residents of his building’s penthouse, whatever his personal thoughts on the man’s lifestyle. 

“He’s so boring,” the boy whisper-shouts to his companion, sure Jensen won’t be able to hear him. Jensen forbears from rolling his eyes with extreme effort. 

“Oh no,” the girl slurs, listing sharply to one side. Before the boy can catch her or Jensen can move, she’s violently sick into the potted plant by the lift, body heaving again and again as more comes up than Jensen would ever have thought could be inside someone so tiny. 

“Sorry,” the boy says to Jensen as he hauls her to her feet and into the lift. Jensen tries not to growl - the boy doesn’t look sorry at all - and heads to the cleaning cupboard.

***

Jensen’s back in the building at 6pm the next evening, textbook in hand. Sunday nights are usually pretty quiet. This is his last night shift for a while and it’s an excellent time to get some reading done before he fully starts his thesis. 

He’s an hour deep into one of the latest articles published by his advisor when the lift dings. So far, he’s smiled goodbye at a couple heading out to dinner and waved at a family coming back in and since then there have been no other disturbances. 

The young man from the night before exits the lift, clearly nursing a hangover. He’s in sweats and a t-shirt that is far tighter than Jensen himself would ever wear, hair a wild mess over his forehead and skin a little clammy. 

He’s only been living in the building for a month and Jensen’s had relatively little actual interaction with him; he’s mostly seen the man staggering in late at night with his flavour of the week. But now he staggers up to the desk and leans heavily on it, eyeing Jensen.

“Good evening, sir. Can I help?” Jensen asks politely. This is an extremely upscale building and when Jensen had secured the job, he’d been given specific instructions on how to talk to residents; he’s sure that goes double for the man living in their most prestigious apartment.

“Yes, please,” the man says promptly, eyes peeking out from under the nest of hair. “I broke something, can you help me?”

“What happened?” Jensen asked. 

“Um, I’m not sure. But it’s probably best if you look at it rather than me explaining.” 

Jensen has no doubt about that; the man looks like he’s too hungover to string a sentence together. 

“Let me fetch my tools,” he replies.

***

His handyman skills had been one of the main reasons he’d secured his role. Jensen had worked construction during the holidays as an undergrad, and the building manager had seen the opportunity to have an in-house handyman as well as a concierge. Jensen hasn’t had to use his toolbox much yet. He’s fixed a leaking pipe and helped the old lady on floor 3 to put up a new photo frame, but that’s about it. 

So he’s not prepared for what he finds when the young man opens the door to the penthouse.

The first thing he takes in is the mess; clothes are strewn about the main room, over furniture and in piles on the floor. The majority clearly belong to the young man, but there’s a sparkly dress hanging off one of the handles of the balcony doors, and a pair of lacy panties make a bright pink splash against the dark of the uber-modern coffee table. 

He doesn't notice until after that one of the piles seems to be slightly more strategic; the clothes are wet and there’s water seeping from under them. 

“Over there,” the young man says, pointing in the direction of the water. 

With a deep breath, Jensen steps across and into the bathroom. 

The sink is just about upright, though it looks decidedly skewiff; but one of the taps has come off entirely, gleaming in the light to one side of the room. Water is leaking sluggishly from the tap hole into the full sink and then over the side onto the floor, where it’s being soaked up by a pile of towels. Altogether, Jensen thinks it could be worse; the expensive wet-room style of the bathroom is probably saving the downstairs neighbours from water dripping through the ceiling. 

“How did this happen?” he asks, incredulous.

“Um?” the young man says, holding his hands up. 

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier? Why did you put all these towels down and not do anything about it?” 

“I didn’t put the towels down.”

Jensen pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“Right,” he says. He’s about to ask the young man come and hold a bucket while he disconnects the pipe below the sink, but the man beats him to it. 

“You can deal with this, right?” he says. Before Jensen can answer, he’s padding across the lounge and through a door on the other side.

There’s a thump that Jensen identifies as the sound of a body hitting a mattress. 

“Unbelievable,” Jensen mutters. “What a dick.”

***

Jensen would be the first to admit that he’s out of touch with popular culture, so he’s hardly surprised that it takes him another week to work out who the boy is. In the meantime, he sees the boy twice more; once clearly hungover in the morning as Jensen starts his new afternoon/evening shift, and the second time just as he’s packing up for the night concierge. He’s heading out somewhere fancy, suited and booted with a bow tie loose around his neck ready to be tied. He’s high too, Jensen thinks; the bounce in his step and the rapid fire of his words at his driver are indicative of a bump of cocaine taken to spice up his evening. 

So when Jared sees the boy’s face peering out at him from a magazine his mother is reading, something settles in his brain, cogs clicking into place. 

“Can I see that?” he asks. Startled, his mother hands it over and watches as he flicks through. He finds the boy on page 3 - _Texas’ darling_ , the headline proclaims. Son of an oil baron and a minor Hollywood starlet, the boy - Jared - is busy attending charity galas and bringing toys to children in hospitals. 

And getting drunk and fucking a different woman every night, Jensen adds sourly, but there’s no mention of that in the aricle. Typical. 

***

“No dogs allowed in the building,” Jensen says before he can stop himself, looking in alarm at the two large dogs trekking mud across his pristine entrance hallway, heading with purpose towards the ill-fated potted plant by the lift. 

“I got special permission.”

Of course the dogs' owner would be Jared, Jensen thinks with an internal eye-roll. 

“The building doesn’t allow dogs. It’s in the tenancy agreement. Not even as visitors,” Jensen insists. 

Jared’s the epitome of casual chic today; muddy pawprints adorning a cleary expensive t-shirt and a soft pink scarf tucked around his neck matching the rose on his cheeks. 

“Mr Sellman is a friend of my parents. He understands I need my babies with me. He gave me special permission to have them.“

There’s steel in Jared’s voice - no doubt born of always getting his own way, Jensen reminds himself. Nevertheless, he hesitates, unsure. Building policy is to not allow the dogs upstairs, but Jared is clearly a favoured resident. 

“You can call and ask him if you want,” Jared says. “You can use my phone.”

He holds out the newest iPhone, other hand settling on his hip. Jensen takes a moment to reflect that boy has inherited his mother’s looks and sense of drama rather than the dull Texas stodge of his father, before he caves. 

“Fine,” he says, staring Jared down, tempted to add that Jared will be responsible for clearing up after them. 

His resolve is tested a moment later by the tinkle of liquid on tile as the bigger dog pees up against the potted plant. 

“Sorry,” Jared says, as he herds both dogs into the lift. Once again, he doesn’t look sorry at all, leaning down to ruffle the head of the smaller dog, jeans stretching tight over strong thighs as he bends. 

Jensen bangs his head on his desk. 

***

His next few interactions with Jared are much the same. Now that he’s working the afternoon shift, he often sees Jared walking his dates down to waiting taxis. Jared’s always solicitous and affectionate with them, exchanging hugs and laughing as they leave, but Jensen’s sure he never sees the same girl twice. Sometimes, he sees Jared taking the dogs for a walk and they return, mud up to the eyeballs, splattering all over Jensen’s floor. There’s another handyman call - this time to help Jared change a lightbulb, a chore he doesn’t seem able to achieve by himself. Jensen completes it in stony silence as Jared chatters away on the phone behind him, planning his attendance at the evening’s party. Jared waves him out as he leaves with the stepladder and dead bulb, not even pausing to say thank you, and Jensen seethes. 

So he fully expects to see Jared when he agrees to cover the night shift for Colin the following Friday. Arriving at 8pm, he half thinks he’ll see Jared leave, but there’s no sign of him until gone eleven. Jensen watches as Jared’s pulled into the building, not by one of his tiny girlfriends but by a tall, heavily built man. They’re both dressed in tuxedos, the suit jacket hanging precariously down Jared’s shoulder and the other man’s shirt collar wide open. 

The other man tugs Jared across the lobby, holding fast to his hand as they near the lift. “C’mon, Jare,” he murmurs. Jensen watches in astonishment as he pushes Jared back against the wall between the lifts, nearly knocking over the potted plant, and lowers his mouth to Jared’s neck, sucking what will probably be a vicious hickey come morning. 

“Don’t,” Jared says, pushing at the man’s shoulders and laughing, just a little. 

“You know you want to,” the man says, sliding his hands down Jared’s arms and pinning them to the wall next to him. He presses his mouth against Jared and kisses him deeply, slotting his body against Jared’s. 

Jensen can’t help but watch. All the thoughts he’s ruthlessly pushed down the last few weeks rush to the surface; thoughts of what Jared would look like flushed and writhing, all that hair spread out on a pillow around him; of what the muscles so often visible beneath tight t-shirts look like in lamplight. He’s about to cough loudly and let them know he’s there when he realises that what he’s watching doesn’t match his half-acknowledged fantasies. 

Jared’s struggling, pushing against the man pinning him to the wall rather than writhing under him. He’s moving his head from side to side to try and escape the kiss, but the man has him pinned too tightly, and the sounds he’s making are distressed rather than wanton. 

Jensen might not like Jared very much; in fact, most of the time he wants to scream at him. But there's no way he's going to let this happen. Not on his watch. 

“Hey,” he says loudly. “Stop that.”

Jensen approaches them at a jog and the man steps back slightly, though he still keeps his hands on Jared’s wrists. 

“Sorry, man,” the guy says, leering. “Didn’t realise we had an audience. We’ll take it upstairs.”

Jensen looks between them, from the man’s sneering face to Jared’s ashen one. Jared’s breathing hard, his face flushed, but it’s nothing like Jensen imagined; he looks shocked, almost terrified. 

“The hell you will,” Jensen says shortly. 

“Excuse me?” The man’s voice drips pretension and Jensen realises he’s dealing with another one of Texas’ spoilt trust-fund brats. 

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Jensen says steadily with a hint of steel in his voice. He might not have rich parents but he’s more than capable of handling himself; his physical appearance was another reason for his successful job application. 

“Fuck off,” the man says. “Jare wants me to come up.”

“No, you should leave, Trevor,” Jared says. His voice trembles a bit but he stares at the other man, holding his own. “You’re not invited up.”

There’s a moment of silence, tension thick in the air, before Trevor rolls his eyes. 

“Fine, I’m leaving,” he announces. “Fucking tease.” He shoots Jared a last, venomous look before storming out, somehow managing to slam the soft-close door. 

Jared slumps back against the wall. 

“You ok?” Jensen asks, awkwardly. “Do you wanna call the cops? Or a friend?”

“Call the cops to tell them a man tried to sexually assault me? Yeah right,” Jared says bitterly. Jensen can only agree with that. 

“A friend then?” 

“No, I’m just gonna go and cuddle with my babies.” 

Jensen watches, hands clenched at his sides, as the lift door opens and Jared steps inside, leaning heavily against the wall. 

“Thank you,” he says softly as the door closes.

***

Inevitably, there’s a difference in their interactions after that. 

Jensen knows something about Jared now, something the press doesn’t, and while he has no intention of doing anything with that knowledge, it makes him feel connected to Jared through the shared experience of growing up gay (or at least bisexual) in Texas. Jared’s clearly aware of Jensen’s presence in a way he hasn’t been before. He smiles shyly at Jensen whenever he comes through the lobby, waving as he ducks his head as his hair covers his eyes. Jensen looks at him differently now too, noting the affectionate way he treats his dogs as they thunder through the building; smiling at the careless way Jared treats his clothes, uncaring of the way he looks. Sometimes he catches Jared’s gaze lingering on him as he waits for the lift to arrive, but whenever Jensen looks back Jared’s head is ducked again. 

“Can you help me?” Jared asks him one evening. “Again, I mean.” 

“What can I help you with, sir?” Jensen asks politely. 

“The door to the balcony is stuck and I can’t close it,” Jared explains. “I think one of the dogs crashed into it and broke it.” Jensen forbears from mentioning that this is exactly why dogs aren’t allowed in the building while he gets his toolbox.

Jared’s dressed casually despite the fact that it’s nearly 8pm; Jensen can only guess this must be one of his rare nights in. His jeans are even longer than his already mile-long legs, trailing on the floor as he pads barefoot to the lift, his shirt stretched and faded, curling over his biceps as he presses the button. 

The penthouse is in much better order this time, though there are still a few bits of clothing strewn around and dog toys litter the floor. The dogs themselves are sprawled across the sofa, panting happily in a pile; Jensen swears the big one actually looks smug. 

“If you’d just show me the problem, sir,” he asks, as Jared looks at the dogs fondly. 

“Oh yes!” Jared says, gesturing at the main window. “And stop with that sir stuff, I hate it.”

“Of course, sir,” he says. Jared glares at him, but Jensen is unmoved; it’s more than his job is worth to treat any of the residents differently. 

He gets to work identifying the problem, noting that the sliding door has indeed been knocked off track. He suspects this is another of Jared’s sexcapades (as he’d assumed the broken sink was), but the memory of Trevor pinning Jared to the wall against his will rises up and he reconsiders. 

“Doyoughshagummirwm?” 

Jensen identifies the sound as a question, based on the rise at the end, but can’t make any sense of the actual words. 

“What?” he asks. 

“Dyowangummirwrm?”

It sounds vaguely similar, but it still makes no sense, so Jensen turns around. He’s confronted by the sight of Jared with a gummi worm hanging from his lips, his cheeks bulging with candy and his lips dusted with sugar. He looks edible, and not in the way he’s currently devouring candy. 

Jensen’s undoubtedly creepy staring is broken by Jared waving the box at him. “Oh,” he says stupidly. “Gummi worms.” 

“S’what I said.”

“No, I’m not a big fan of the sour ones, but thank you,” Jensen says politely, wrenching his eyes back to the door. 

“Morefrme,” Jared says happily. 

Over the next half hour, Jensen is forced to reassess another of his opinions about Jared as the younger man gets more and more hyper, stuffing candy into his mouth and talking a mile a minute at Jensen. He’s mid-way through describing how the Spurs are going to trash the Mavs on Sunday (Jensen disagrees wildly, but he’s trying to remain professional) when everything suddenly clicks: all the times he’d assumed Jared had been doing coke had looked just like this. 

“How often do you eat those?” he asks, interrupting Jared. 

“All the time,” Jared says happily, bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

“Before you go out?” Jensen asks. 

“Yeah! Helps me stay awake at all the boring stuff my parents drag me to!”

Jared bounces over to the sofa, flopping down next to the dogs. “Why?” 

“No reason, sir,” he responds, trying to drop back into his professional role. He can see the reflection of Jared pouting in the mirror and dreads more questions, but luckily it only takes a couple of seconds before Jared’s distracted by something else. 

By the time he’s finished repairing the window, Jared’s managed to wheedle out of him that his own preferred candy is gummy bears. Jensen’s somehow unsurprised to find a bumper bag of the candy on his desk when he arrives the next day. 

***

After that, the requests for help become even more frequent and basic. Jensen finds himself dragged up to Jared’s apartment every couple of days, requests for support including how to turn on the washing machine (a chore Jensen suspects Jared has never undertaken in his life) and why his shower drips after he’s used it (“It’s annoying me, Jensen, drip, drip, drip, make it stop!”). Jared takes every opportunity to talk at him, trying to draw him into conversation, and Jensen finds it harder and harder to maintain his professionalism as he realises Jared really is just a happy, friendly kid - admittedly a spoilt one, but one who goes out of his way to help others as soon as he realises there’s a need. It’s just that his privileged upbringing means that the need often has to be pointed out to him before he recognises it. 

Jared attends endless charity dinners on his parents’ behalf, distributing funds to charities across Texas with a largesse that’s probably giving the family accountant grey hairs; but more than that, he brings others to Jensen’s desk, suggesting ways Jensen can help them (“I’d do it myself, Jen, but it would be a disaster, I haven’t got a clue!”) and there’s a bag of gummy bears on Jensen’s desk every single morning. Jensen recognises a heart of gold when he sees one, even if he sometimes wants to strangle Jared for his complete lack of self-sufficiency. 

It’s when Jared calls him up to tell him that his tv isn’t working that Jensen finally loses his patience. 

“Look, Jen, nothing’s happening,” Jared complains, pointing his remote at the tv. Fox news blares in the background. “Make this stupid shit stop.”

“You know you can just turn it off at the switch, right?” Jensen asks. 

“I don’t want to turn it off, I want this stupid dumbass station to go away. My dad always puts it on when he’s here and I hate it.” He points the remote again, pressing frantically as if that will help. 

“Let me?” Jensen asks. He takes the remote out of Jared’s hands and presses a button, noting that the red light at the top doesn’t come on. “You just need to change the batteries.”

Jared looks at him blankly. 

“How can you not know how to change batteries?” Jensen explodes. 

“Someone always did it for me,” Jared says, shrugging. 

“Oh my god,” Jensen says, burying his head in his hands. “No, I won’t. I refuse. I absolutely refuse. You need to work this out for yourself.”

“What?” Jared asks, panicked. “No. Jensen, please. Just show me how? I don’t even have any batteries.” 

Jensen pinches the bridge of his nose and bites his tongue. “Ok. This once, Jared. I will give you some batteries. In the meantime just turn that damn news off.”

Jensen stalks from the room and heads down to the concierge office for their supply of batteries. He’s surprised to find the tv off when he arrives back; he’d secretly been sure Jared wouldn’t know how to turn the switch off. 

Jared’s sitting on the sofa with the dogs, looking sheepish. “I guess this is stuff ordinary people know how to do?” 

Jensen bites his tongue. “Yes.” He thinks about his job, the fact that it’s helping to pay off his PhD loan. “But that’s why you moved here, Jared. We’re here to help you when you need it.”

Jared glares at him. “I hate you being all professional with me. Just be normal.”

Jensen snaps the back of the remote over the new batteries. 

“Believe me, if I wasn’t being professional, I’d have laughed and walked out and you’d be stuck with Fox News forever.”

Jared glares even harder as Jensen leaves but as he reaches the lift, Jensen hears Jared call his name. 

“Jensen, you’re not actually going to stop helping me are you?” 

He looks so young, so lost, that Jensen can’t help himself. He can blame it on being professional all he wants; he’d be helping Jared anyway. 

“No, Jared. Of course not.”

***

There’s been a marked decrease in the number of young ladies visting Jared’s apartment over the last few weeks. Not that Jensen’s been paying attention, of course; but he can’t help but notice the potted plant has only been molested by Jared’s dogs, not by any vomiting socialites. 

Jared’s been going out less, too; but he’d left this evening in jeans and a ridiculously tight t-shirt, pausing before he left to drape himself over Jensen’s desk and chatter excitedly. Jensen had determinedly not stared and hadn’t thought at all about where Jared might be going and the fact that he wouldn’t see Jared come home before his shift ended at 10pm. 

Except he does. Jared weaves his way into the lobby as Jensen is about to start packing up, mildly tipsy but alone. “Jen!” he exclaims. “This evening was boring so I came home early. Which is better, because you’re here.”

“Good evening, Jared,” Jensen says evenly, trying not to look at the patch of sweat in the hollow of Jared’s neck. 

Jared comes to a stop in front of the desk and eyes Jensen, looking him up and down. “What time do you finish tonight?” he asks. 

“Not long now,” Jensen replies. 

“Got big plans? Seeing someone?” 

“Just studying.”

“Good.” Jared looks pleased and Jensen refuses to think about why. 

“Can I help with anything?” Jensen asks as Jared continues to stare. “I need to start packing up.” 

Jared smiles at him, mischief in his eyes. “No, I’m going to go up.”

“Good night, Jared,” Jensen says, busying himself with tidying the desk. There’s no reply except the ding of the elevator. 

***

It’s not five minutes later before the internal phone rings. “Jensen, I need your help,” Jared says. 

“What can I help you with?” 

“I’ll explain once you’re up here.”

Jensen sighs as the line goes dead. He’s got five minutes of his shift left; he could wait and let his replacement help Jared. But even as he considers, he’s walking towards the lift. Clearly, Jared’s got him wrapped around his little finger. 

“Door's open,” Jared calls as the lift door opens on the top floor. Steeling himself for whatever ridiculously easy fix Jared needs this time, Jensen walks into the apartment. 

His mouth drops open as he takes in Jared perched on the edge of the dining table, shirtless and sprawled back, resting on his elbows. The low light glistens across the muscles of his chest and stomach, darker shadows inviting Jensen into the vee of his legs. 

“What?” Jensen stutters. 

“I need you to help me fix the table,” Jared says. 

Jensen’s brain to mouth filter isn’t working properly; he blurts out, “It’s not broken,” as he continues to rake his gaze across all the skin on display. 

“Not yet,” Jared says. “I could use your help with that too.”

Jensen’s frozen, too shocked to even laugh at the ridiculous line. He knows what he should do: maintain his professionalism, walk out of the apartment and pretend this never happened. It’s not even the first time one of the building’s residents has been inappropriate - some of the older ladies can be ridiculously handsy. But he finds himself walking forwards without meaning to, drawing nearer to Jared, hands itching to roam across golden skin. 

“You could get me fired,” he says.

“My parents know the building owner. I’ll get you your job back.”

Jensen’s suddenly done prevaricating. He’s been trying to damp down his attraction to Jared for months and he doesn’t want to any longer. 

He stalks across the room and slots in between Jared’s open knees, hand going straight to the belt of his jeans. “Get these off,” he growls. 

Jared fumbles at the button, pulling the zip down and shimmying out of his jeans and boxers in record time. With a smirk, he lies back on the table, pulling his feet up to his hips so he’s all spread out. 

Jensen takes the opportunity to look his fill, enjoying the suddenly switched power balance between them of being clothed while Jared is entirely naked. But he can’t keep his hands to himself for long; he winds one into Jared’s hair and pulls him up for a messy, biting kiss; skipping any first kiss hesitation. Jared moans into his mouth, hands digging into Jensen’s shoulders and tugging impatiently his clothes. 

“Off,” he demands, panting. “Clothes off.”

“Wait a minute, kiddo,” Jensen says. 

“Not a kid,” Jared whines. “I want your clothes off.” 

“You’re a spoilt brat,” Jensen returns, the words spilling out of him after months of biting his tongue. “We’re playing by my rules tonight.”

The whine is louder this time, Jared’s body shuddering underneath his. “I knew you’d be like this,” Jared breathes. “So hot.”

Jensen hums agreement, his mouth finding Jared’s again. Jared writhes under him just as he’d imagined on so many nights, his legs rising to tighten around Jensen’s waist. Jensen can’t resist taking Jared’s arms and sliding them back on the table, pulling until they’re above Jared’s head, so that Jared is spread out fully beneath him. He looks down to find Jared’s bright eyes peering back up at him and suddenly remembers Trevor pinning Jared to the wall like this. 

“Shit. This ok?” he asks, worried. 

“More than,” Jared affirms. “Come on, stop worrying. Want you to fuck me.”

Jensen’s fully on board with that plan, but - “Lube,” he mutters. 

“On the chair,” Jared replies. Jensen rolls his eyes; of course this is the one thing Jared would be practical about. But he switches his hold so that one hand is free, fumbling about, distracted as Jared pushes up against him, sucking kisses into his neck. 

As soon as he has the lube open, he goes back to kissing Jared, already entranced by his mouth. “Next time, we’re gonna take this slower,” he says. “Next time, I’m going to take my time with you.”

“Promises, promises,” Jared jeers. Jensen lands a slap on his ass before he even thinks, the sound cracking out in the quiet of the apartment. He freezes, scared he’s gone too far again, but Jared throws his head back, gasping and thrusting up, so Jensen files the information away for the future.

It doesn’t take long for Jared to open up around his fingers, as Jensen pushes in one then two and then a third, thrusting carefully to avoid Jared’s prostate. Jared’s going wild underneath him, bearing down and wriggling, trying to get Jensen’s fingers in the right spot, but Jensen’s determined. “I told you kiddo, my show.”

Jared pouts up at him, still wriggling about. Jensen wonders if this is the first time Jared’s ever not gotten his own way about something. It’s a good look on him. 

“C’mon,” he insists. “I’m ready. Clothes off.” 

“Stay there,” Jensen says, pushing Jared’s hands against the table. Jared lies still, apparently content to behave as long as he’s getting what he wants. 

It’s the work of a moment to whip his shirt over his head, Jared’s eyes falling to his chest with gratifying swiftness, but Jensen doesn’t take his pants off. He lowers the zipper and pulls his boxers down, slipping on the condom Jared had left with the lube while he slicks up his cock. 

“You’re going to fuck me like that?” Jared asks. 

“Mhhm hmm,” Jensen nods. 

“God,” Jared whines, throwing his head back again. Jensen takes the opportunity to line himself up and start to push in, watching Jared buck in surprise at the sensation, his hands flying up to land on Jensen’s bare shoulders. Nails dig into his back as Jensen pushes forward until he bottoms out, pausing for a moment to catch his breath. Jared surges up against him, crashing his mouth onto Jensen in a sloppy, delicious kiss, hand fisting in Jensen’s hair. 

“That all you got?” Jared asks as he pulls back. 

The second slap is harder than the first; Jensen fully hopes it leaves a mark on Jared’s pert little ass. It makes Jared tense up around him, the pressure maddening, and as soon as he relaxes again Jensen starts to thrust, rocking Jared on the table, this time deliberately finding his prostate. 

It doesn’t take long, both of them apparently wound up after weeks of attraction. Jared pushes up to meet every thrust, his long body moving sinuously under Jensen, the low light glistening in the sweat pooling in the cut muscles of his chest and stomach. He’s beautiful, head thrown back in pleasure, hair spread around him just as Jensen had imagined. 

He only gets more desperate as Jensen gets a hand on his cock, stroking in time with his thrusts, his other arm wrapped around Jared’s waist to lift him slightly so that he nails Jared’s prostate on every thrust. Jared starts to gasp continuously, panting for breath as his hands open and close on Jensen’s back, digging in bruises. 

“Come for me,” Jensen demands, close to the edge himself but wanting to see Jared lose it first. 

“Fuck,” Jared shouts, pushing up one final time, back arching off the table as he comes, spurting between them. Jensen gives up his control, thrusting faster as he chases his own pleasure, Jared’s nails on his scalp the final shot of sensation needed to push him over the edge. Jensen stills with a groan, dropping his weight onto Jared, licking lazily at the sweat pooled on Jared’s neck. 

There’s a loud, wrenching groan and the table collapses underneath them. 

They tumble to the floor, Jensen landing on Jared with an oomph. Jared starts giggling almost immediately, his body shaking with laughter against Jensen’s chest. 

“Well fuck,” Jensen says. “Looks like I do need to mend the table.”

***

Jensen’s usual bag of gummy bears is lying on his desk when he arrives the next day. He picks it up with a smile, pressing his other hand to the livid mark on his neck. 

Jared appears two hours into his shift, pyjama bottoms riding low on his hips and his t-shirt at least two sizes too small. 

“Jensen,” he says with a grin, stretching his arms above his head. “I’ve broken something again. Come and help me?”

“Were all the things you broke a ruse to get me into your apartment,” Jensen asks, once they’re in the lift. 

Jared grins cockily, raising his eyebrow before his face falls, mouth turning down. “I wish I could say yes,” he says. “But I really just don’t know how to fix things.”

“I’ll teach you,” Jensen says, pushing Jared back against the wall of the lift. “And I’m sure we can work out a reward system for everything you learn to do for yourself.”

“I forsee a lot more broken stuff in my future,” Jared murmurs, mouth brushing against Jensen’s. 

“I’m not sure that’s even possible.”

Jared’s pout is so adorable Jensen can’t help but kiss him. Jared really does have him wrapped around his little finger, but Jensen can’t bring himself to care. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on twitter as @soy_em67


End file.
